Fight or Flight
by Holz090
Summary: "How does it feel, knowing you're going to die?... Fight or flight?" Rambling, angsty internal monologue from that final scene from s4 because I clearly enjoy the pain.


"This is it, Freak. This is for every life you've taken or fucked over. What was that girl's name at Blackmoore? Jihanna? Hmm. Simo, Jodie….Allie" It was all Bea could do not to crumble on the spot as she said her lover's name. It still didn't feel real. How could this woman, so full of life, so bright… how could she be dead, just like that? Just as they were happy?

She couldn't let Joan win. Couldn't allow this psychopath, this freak to walk free. If she failed now, what was Allie's life worth? How would she ever be able to live with herself knowing that she'd had her chance and blown it?

All the pain and anger of the past weeks, months, years, bubbled up inside her. The years of torture at the hands of a man she claimed to have loved, because she'd been too chicken shit to do anything until it was too late. Even when she had him right there, tied up, half dead, she'd wimped out. Idiot. And yet here she was doing life anyway, oh the irony. Except now Debbie was gone. Her beautiful, innocent daughter, murdered in cold blood as part of some stupid game that she never signed up for. She should've been planning road trips, clothes shopping with friends and falling in love for the first time, but now all that was gone, all that life and all that light and all that potential, dead, gone, cold in the ground as if none of it ever mattered. As though that beautiful girl hadn't been the one single ray of light in Bea's life since the second she was born. As if all those years she put up with hell: beaten, raped, manipulated, all in a desperate bid to protect her daughter, had been for nothing. Because she couldn't protect her. The most basic job of a mother and she'd failed in the worst possible way.

For months after her death Bea had wished every morning it could have been her that died instead of her daughter. If some divine entity offered her the chance to swap places, she'd do it in a heartbeat. It wasn't like Bea had anything to live for anyway. What was it Liz had said? The only three things you need to be happy: Someone to love, something to do and something to look forward to. What did she have to look forward to? Life without parole. The rest of her life spent rotting away in these four walls, starring at the same dank, dark room every night and waking up every morning to nothing but your own self hatred and regret. Something to do? Laundry? Deal with the same shit from the same drug traffickers every day, eating the same bland food with the same fucking people day after day until they eventually left her to get on with their own lives, and were replaced by some other fucking people who looked and acted the same way. It was like groundhog day in your own private hell. And as for someone to love, that was a joke. She'd HAD someone to love; someone she'd loved more than she knew it was possible to love, but she was gone and she was never coming back. Her life had stretched out in front of her: lonely, cold and tedious. There had been no reason to carry on, no reason to get up in the morning. She'd come to hope someone might wrestle her for the position of top dog; maybe they'd get angry and kill her. At least it would be a relief.

But then she'd met Allie. This beautiful, wonderful woman had brought light into her life that she'd never have known was possible. Suddenly, it was as though someone had thrown down the walls to the prison and made everything bright again. She felt physically lighter; she had energy again, and life became not only something she valued but that she actively enjoyed again. Even the food seemed to taste better when she could eat with Allie by her side. Of course it had been terrifying: the realisation that she was even capable of loving another person again, let alone a woman. But it felt more right than anything she'd ever done.

But she was gone now, too. All that light and love, extinguished far before her time. And for what? Another pawn in Joan Ferguson's twisted game. She hadn't cared about Allie, she didn't even know her. She just knew, somehow, that she'd been Bea's source of light, so that light had to be put out in the cruelest way possible. Allie was worth so much more than that. She'd overcome so much, helped her in so many ways, and all for this? No. She couldn't let that happen, couldn't let her lover's death be in vain.

Her resolve hardened and she took a step forward. This was it: it had to be now. She had to do this. "I'm gonna finish this".

The world flashed red and white as Bea lunged forwards, focussed on nothing but the prize. What could they do to her now? With Allie gone, all that light had been sucked out of her, the weight of the world thrown cruelly back onto her; and she was struggling. If this was all she had to live for, she didn't care what happened to her now. So long as Joan paid for what she'd done, nothing could hurt her. The tightest, most brutal cell in the world was nothing compared to the self imposed one she'd put herself in if she failed.

But she was too eager, too predictable, and Joan wrestled the screwdriver from her. So stupid. She should've known an ex governor would be able to take on a direct attack with ease. Bea struggled to grab it back, but she was too strong for her. Now Joan brandished the blade, pointed straight at her, that look in her eyes like she knew she'd won.

 _No. No, not like this. You don't get to win, freak. Not again. This time, I win._

It was barely a conscious decision, barely a decision at all, it was automatic. Bea was hardly aware what she was doing until her hands were tight around Joan's arm and she was pushing the screwdriver into her own chest, hard.

It took until the third blow for her even to feel the pain. It was only when she realised she was struggling to breath that it all became real. Forcing herself on, she kept her gaze firmly on Joan: the expression on her face changing now. Ha, she hadn't expected this. Had Bea finally got one up on her? Was the freak finally vulnerable? She was so close to now she could feel her breath on her cheek: speeding up, panicked. Bea no longer felt the pain; she felt liberated, free.

"You want it?" Joan's desperate attempt to regain power was far too little, far too late. She was dead already, the extra blows she inflicted on her now doing nothing but strengthening the case against her. She felt cold, weak; she could feel the warmth of her own blood against her jumper, but she barely cared. This was it, this is how it ends, and Bea could honestly say she felt at peace.

She starred Joan straight in the eye, a grin spreading across her face. "I win!".

As she collapsed to the ground, Joan's panicked face vanished from view. Footsteps, then someone new stood over her: two voices. Mr Jackson? A woman, she couldn't make out who. Someone cradled her, urged her to stay awake. As they too blurred and vanished from view, two clouds, like seahorses, grew closer. Allie. This was it, this was her moment. Nothing else mattered but the vision of Allie in her mind and the warmth of sun on her skin as Bea felt herself slip away.

She'd won. It was over. For perhaps the first time in her life, she felt genuinely at peace.

"It's going to be okay".


End file.
